


einstein on the beach

by bonestilts



Series: the loco-motion [1]
Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Beach fic, First Kiss, M/M, but not the One ive been promising, funny thing is i don't even like the ocean., idk the mood of this, it aint depressed but its kinda moody, its night time, lots of thinking again, pacific era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonestilts/pseuds/bonestilts
Summary: He’d never asked why Joe was alone, why he was outside and thinking. Was he being kind or did he not care? Joe didn’t know which he preferred.





	einstein on the beach

**Author's Note:**

> as tradition on this account; THIS HASN'T BEEN EDITED. this work was a spur of the moment kinda thing, i needed to stop doing homework for a while so instead i wrote this mess.  
> uh so idk what its about and idk what's going on  
> but hopefully its an easy read, something relaxing if anyones feeling like some mazlek :)  
> enjoy!

It’s drinks night, and Joe is sulking outside.

It’s drinks night and all of his friends are inside hollering loudly over drunken banter, they’re clapping each other on the back and watching sports on the small television overhead and Joe’s standing outside; suffocating himself on salt-thick air.

He’s got a foot in the sprinkle of sand that possesses the last step leading to the pub. The wood didn’t creak when he’d snuck out here, away from the laughter and lights — he’d noticed how much quieter it was by the ocean. Joe couldn’t really see it from where he stood, hands shoved tightly into his pockets to stop the deep-seated tremor, but he could hear it.

Over the howling of his mates, he could hear the crashing of waves, the screaming of the water toppling over onto itself, inviting, eating, endlessly churning. It’s looking for a taste of something, or _someone_.

“He scores! He fucking scores!” Joe hears someone cheer, no doubt pumping his first towards the television. Australian sports, confusing, a waste of Joe’s time whilst still knowing he doesn’t have enough space in his brain to memorise the rules of their “football”. He was sent here for a reason, to relive someone else’s memories, to tell someone else’s nearly forgotten story; really, to act. He has to focus on that.

But then, the television. That always comes back to him, everywhere he goes. It’s significant in the worst ways.

Joe remembers when his father’s telly broke. He’d been very little then, and messing around with John in the living room, careless. He doesn’t recall who was the one to fall back on it, heavy weight shifting from unstable heels to the thick screen glass; but it had broke either way.

_“That was my father’s, Joseph.”_ he’d revealed, looking down his long nose and into wet beady little eyes. His voice rough, sickly serious and made Joe’s knee shake.

He’d taken the blame easily, fearful to speak up otherwise and correct his father’s mistake. Was it John?

“Guess we’ll never know now.” he says to himself, voice losing its steadiness in the dead of night.

Neither he or John remember, his father’s words are lost and none of his sons can backtrack far enough through their memory to admit who was truly to blame.

Shame.

“You thinking about having a dip?”

Joe twists his body around and squints against the glare. It’s Rami, beer glass in hand, it’s still foaming at the lip, either it’s new of Rami’s not in the mood to get wasted tonight.

“You mean skinny dipping?”

He’s next to him now, so Joe can feel him shrug against his own shoulder.

“Could be fun.”

“Or it could be cold as all hell.”

“Would you be down for it?”

Joe looks at Rami then, takes in the shadow across his face, the gleam of his teeth in the moonlight and the way the pub’s lights only reach his nape. He’s fading away from Joe’s vision.

He does feel like visiting the ocean, he can’t see much from here. He wants to see the salty bubbles fighting their way towards his toes, trying to suck him into the depths of it, the true danger of their environment. But it could be risky, he’s had two pints.

“How drunk are you really?” he asks after a while, a smile playing on his lips.

“Haven’t gotten past my first.” Rami holds up his full glass, a little splashes over the side with the abrupt movement. “And I know for a fact that you haven’t had as many as you pretend to’ve.”

Alright, so he’s only had one pint. Big deal, he’s not that big on alcohol.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Rami doesn’t wait for an answer this time. He balances his glass down on the pub’s fence post to their left, then proceeds to slip his trainers off, ignoring the laces and ripping at the heel with his toes on the other foot.

He’s walking down the last step before Joe can even consider taking his shoes off. He can hear the muffled padding of his feet in the sand. Rami’s making his way into the distance, towards the darkened swell of water in the background and Joe’s standing there stupidly, watching him be swallowed alone.

“Wait,” he calls, hand raised in surrender as he works at his shoes, “Just, hang on.”

Rami turns to face him, chest puffed, “Knew you’d come around.”

The light blazes him now that he’s facing the pub fully, Joe can see his face. Cheeks painted against the salty breeze, hair jumping at the slightest movement in the air. He looks so happy, Joe wonders what he sees staring back.

He’d never asked why Joe was alone, why he was outside and thinking. Was he being kind or did he not care? Joe didn’t know which he preferred.

Joe hops down from the step, the sand immediately rising up to meet his toes. It feels so nostalgic to have sand bury itself between the gaps, everyone knows the feeling, it’s in every single memory log. Joe moves after Rami, following him blindly as they make their way towards the shore.

He stares at the back of his neck, at the curls of his hair, how his complexion is so obviously darker than Joe’s. It’s certainly a feeling.

They’ve passed the mix of sticks and roots in the grains, away from the shrub and the grey sand, away from the sidewalk and the steps leading to the pub’s silent balcony. It’s cleaner down here, the air more welcoming, the moon reflects off the calm waves.

Joe relishes in the feeling of being in foreign land, exploring a place he knows he’ll never visit again.

Except, he will, the whole gang will race down to the beach after filming each day. After sitting around on hot rocks, waiting for their Marine’s name to be called, they’ll grab a plastic cup of water, chug it down on the shuttering bus and bustle their way down towards the lapping water upon arrival.

It’s Australia, it’s December and boiling, they’re rooming right by the ocean. What else would be expected of them?

“I’m not getting in, just watching.” Joe says once he can see Rami’s feet pound into water, he’s a few steps behind him.

“What? You’re just gonna stand there and watch me strip down?”

For the first time that night, Joe is grateful of the darkness against his face. He shakes his head with a laugh, _unbelievable_ , and tucks his hands back into the pockets of his board shorts.

“I didn’t come down here to put on a show, Joe.” Rami teases, voice deep and unforgiving. Joe tries to shoot him a look, anything to convince the other man, but there isn’t enough light to support it.

“Alright, but if it’s too cold, I’m 0ut.”

He’s given in that easily, a few words out of a sly mouth and Joe’s following him in with a ducked head. It shouldn’t be that quick, he used to be so bull-headed. He supposes it’s Rami that got the hold around his neck, he’s got him on a leash already, three months into production and he’s locked in.

The shorts come off first, oddly, then the shirt; both thrown into the sand behind him. It’s too dark for this, he wants to be able to see Rami’s expression. Rami’s butt-naked now, wadding his way into the gentle caresses of water against softer sand. Joe doesn’t move, his toes are digging at the giving earth beneath his feet.

That’s how it begun, with Joe standing still, watching with a mix of amusement and fixation, as the water laps away at its meal, a velvet skinned man. It’s a natural cycle.

“You coming in or what?” he calls without looking back, his voice almost being destroyed by the open plane of the ocean.

His boxers are gone.

Faster than he’d ever moved that night, Joe hurries into the water after him. The abruptness causes the ocean to splash back at him, swallowing his ankles cooly — a parallel to Rami’s abandoned beer, still sitting alone on the post, like Joe had been.

They don’t talk very much once they’re both fully submerged. Joe’s too afraid to go out too far, but Rami’s adventurous. He dives in deep, leaves Joe at the surface worried to himself until a soaked head emerges from the rippling.

Joe feels Rami swim closer towards him, his feet sometimes kick at his shins; their skin slimy underneath the water. It’s entertaining to realise he likes the proximity.

“Go under, it’s so nice.”

Joe’s not sure.

“Do it, dunk your head.” Rami’s grinning at him, the moon catches the whites of his teeth and Joe can’t take his eyes of them.

“Here goes nothing,”

It’s muffled down there. Joe feels the rise of his shoulders in the emptiness, the air in his body wanting to bring him back up. He longs to feel them being dragged down further. He wants to try and escape but it’s not giving him the chance. He doesn’t dare breathe, he knows he’ll be sucking in a whole other element if he tries. Joe doesn’t want to drown himself, but he wants to fight it. To revel in the reason of living again.

“The show’s taking a toll on you, huh?” Rami says to him levelly when he comes back up.

How could he possibly know that from Joe going under? How?

They’re face to face, treading water quietly, breathing against each other’s wet noses.

“A little.” he admits. Shouldn’t be hard to get the truth out here, he’s where he wanted to go, he’s not looking down on the waterfront anymore, he’s _apart_ of it.

“You okay with it?”

It’s not getting any darker, Joe’s eyes have adjusted now. He can see Rami loud and clear.

He tries to shrug in the water, “A little.”

Rami smiles, sick of him; Joe knows. He smiles back.

“Could you at least try to get a sentence out?” The water rushes up Rami’s chin, his chuckle throated with a gurgle that Joe laughs brightly at. They’re both a mess out here, slowly shifting away from the mainland and further out into the endless liquid. They're struggling against the rise of it, legs kicking in earnest under a blanket of power.

Joe suggests they make their way back towards the shore, Rami agrees.

There, he lets him in.

“I don’t know why it’s affected me so much, but I feel sick to my stomach every time I have to be on that bloody set.”

“Maybe you’ve started to take it personally.”

“Could be. It’s—y’know, that place is so horrible. I don’t wanna imagine what it was like for them over there but that’s our job, we can’t not.”

Rami stays quiet. They’re sitting naked on the beach now, right where the water comes up to greet them. Sand in the ass, toes in the sand. Both their arms slung over their bent knees, backs crooked, Joe rests his chin against his forearms but Rami doesn’t, he looks on into the distance.

“Maybe you should talk to Hanks about it.” Tom was on set more often than Steven, ‘he’s got other projects’ people assumed. “He might have some way to relieve you, what with working on Private Ryan and B.O.B,” Joe sniffled.

So many maybe’s. Maybe this, maybe that, but was there anything solid? How can Joe handle living two lives when one of them is filled with of never-ending torture and unjustified violence? It’s goddamn hard.

“Or maybe,” he joins in, “I need to be recasted.”

Rami looks at him, brows pulled tight, “Don’t be an idiot. They wouldn’t dare, and don’t you go begging for that shit either. You make or break this project.”

_Don’t be selfish,_ is what Rami wants to say, or has said, only in a more elaborated way. It doesn’t pass over Joe, he grips at it and adds it to the part of his brain that is purely occupied by Rami.

He’s sulking again, dwelling on his problems, forgetting other’s, and more importantly, forgetting why they’re doing this in the first place. It was never for him, never for the cash, or the reputation boost; it was for the men that risked their lives for his own. They deserved someone strong enough to carry on their tales. Joe could do that — he believed.

Rami believed too.

He brought his hand up, slowly as if trying to tame an angered cat, and placed it between his shoulder blades. Affection, guidance, or mere friendliness? Joe wanted first, needed second, and had had enough of third.

“You’re right,” his thumb swiped at the salt on Joe’s skin, it tickled, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Needed a bit of a breather to get my head in order. I’ve had it now.”

_You are the now,_ Joe wanted to say, _you’re my breather. Let me breathe you in and never exhale you. I want to keep you here by my side._ But couldn’t.

Yin and yang? That was bullshit. Rami was his damn life support, it hadn’t been long, but he was ready to admit it to everyone. He wanted this being to himself. Joe smiled without realising.

“What’re you giggling about now?” Rami was smiling too, Joe could hear it in his voice whilst still keeping his eyes trained on the sand between his toes.

Rami’s hand didn’t still, has more courage than Joe had when he was up on the balcony. Rami did what he wanted, got what he deserved and worked hard for it all the way round. Joe took inspiriting from him, watched him work under the sun, fixated on the beads of sweat that trailing down his chest during those _scenes_ and tucked the memory under his pillow at night. Ready for the next day ahead.

Why not?

“Thinking about you.”

The hand stopped swaying. Joe felt his wrist tense.

“About me, huh.” he sounded fascinated, though not necessarily surprised.

Joe laughed openly, mostly to himself, “But then when am I never not?”

“What about me are you thinking about?”

“I dunno. All of you, I guess.”

It was Rami’s turn to laugh, to lean across and rest his forehead on Joe’s shoulder so he could feel the vibrations rack though his body too. He was sharing himself, allowing it, wanting it too. It was acceptance and much like earning a military nickname, it gave Joe pride.

Joe can feel the dampness of Rami’s hair against his tight skin, shrunken by the sea. The sweet droplets of water rolling down his tricep and into his armpit, mapping out their way. It’s almost like a gift from Rami, as obsessive as Joe thinks it sounds, there’s a hint of truth behind it.

After a minute of warm thoughts, Rami shifts his hips over towards him. Getting himself more comfortable to lean onto his skin, it’s real and Joe’s heart is shaking.

“Can I ask you something, Joe?”

The possibilities are endless. His pulse picks up.

“Shoot.”

“How did they get your hair so red?”

Joe exhales deeply, there isn’t an ounce of relief that leaves his body. Instead he tries his hardest to keep his mouth closed around the laugh that punctures his lungs. Rami’s heading down a different path and Joe doesn’t want to follow, wants to steer him back to their previous conversation; wants to progress.

“They, uh, they put me on a special diet.”

“You serious?”

Joe smiles widely, hopes Rami can’t hear it. “Oh, for sure. Feed me all kinds of stuff.”

“Like what?” it’s pure interest and Joe wants to strangle him.

“Carrots.”

Rami’s head leaves his shoulder so he can erupt with laughter. It’s not even funny, maybe their _single_ beer is catching up to them now. Their noise drowns out, their eyes back on the crashing of the waves and the way the water almost leaps to touch their skin. The moon’s moved since Joe last looked.

It’s romantic, isn’t it? The setting, how they’re positioned, the way they communicate. It’s dauntingly romantic and Joe wants to remember every second. May not get another chance.

Rami suggests they get back to the apartments, get a good rest in time for shooting tomorrow. But Joe finds himself not wanting to move an inch, he likes Rami’s wet hair splayed against him, likes the way that the ocean erases any other sound in their vicinity; doesn’t _really_ like that there’s sand clinging to his ass and balls. That’ll be a big problem when they start filming, he doesn’t want to imagine it — Sledge with chafing.

It startles another laugh from him.

“What is it now? Can’t be me again, can it?” He's confident now, Joe likes that.

“No, no. Just don’t want to have to excuse myself tomorrow because my balls chafe.” he responds, voice airy and _happy._

_“_ Christ,” Rami cringes, lifting his head away, “Don’t give me the mental image.”

Joe’s giggling like he’s back to being twelve, it’s addictive. “It’d be so bad. That shit hurts like nothing you’ve ever felt before.”

“You’ve had it happen to you before?” Rami raises his voice with disbelief, Joe turns to look at him in time to see his lips curve into a boyish smile. Excited for a reveal, waiting, preparing his teases.

Joe’s frowning whilst grinning shyly, a juxtaposition of emotions playing on his face. He _will_ be mocked for this until the premiere, he’s somehow willing to take that on.

“Yeah, it was sand too. I hope you get to experience my pain one day.”

“Fuck off! Don’t curse me with your bad luck.” Rami’s flicking sand up into Joe’s face with his palm; Joe’s fast reflexes come to his safety and his eyes shut against the spray.

“Oi!”

He’s up on his feet in no time, bending down momentarily between steps to scoop at the sand and catapult it towards the tripping Rami before him. Their nakedness isn’t an issue, maybe for the Australian laws, but it’s ignored once they’re both at full steam ahead. Throwing handfuls of grains, kicking it up from the ground in hopes of striking someplace valuable.

They’re yelling, too. Screaming profanities, each other’s full names, worn out military curses that Joe doubts any local would understand. He hopes they’re not staring down at them from the footpath, hands covering mouths in disappointment, Nokias out with their emergency number on speed-dial.

_Don’t mistake us for drunks having a brawl._ Joe wishes internally as Rami rains sand into his crusty, drying hair.

“You’re gonna regret doing that, _Merriell.”_ he took the next step.

Rami froze, responding to the name as if it were his own. Joe wondered if he’d etched that into his brain too, how to react to having _his_ first name said aloud; like rank being pulled. Either he was a better actor than Joe gave him credit for, or he was blurring the line between two worlds.

“I know better than to—“

Joe tackled him down to the ground, hooked his arms around his stomach and knocked the force from his heels. He wasn’t sure what Rami was going to say, he felt the need to leave it a mystery. Secretly regretting even bringing up those other men. There was a sprinkling of guilt that always came along with their names.

He was wrong to bring their attention back to that reality, it wasn’t time for that now.

The sand greeted Rami’s freckled shoulders loudly, drawing an _oft!_ from deep within him. They didn’t move after that, with Joe’s hands looped around his warm torso. There wasn’t any moisture between them anymore, Joe laying half over Rami, half onto the scratchy sand beneath _that_ body.

“Should we go back now?” Rami asked after taking a long breath. Joe wondered if he was envisioning a cigarette in his mouth at this very moment; Rami’d been smoking since before auditions, but Joe was yet to become hooked.

He was staring down at him with wide, dark eyes. Chin resting against the tip of his shoulder to get a better look at Joe, who had his cheek resting right above his elbow. It felt stupidly poetic to be tangled like this, Joe knew they were too old for that Romeo and Juliet bullshit.

“Yeah.”

The two of them had to walk far to reach their scattered clothes. They tried to rub as much sand off their bodies as possible, embarrassed to dig too deep or reveal much of themselves despite just skippy dipping together.

Joe and Rami never went back to the pub, neither knew what happened to Rami’s second beer, or the boys inside. Or who won the football on television, whether it was Carlton or Essendon, not that any the cast and crew even recognised those teams (Joe certainly didn’t, or care). It was for societal approval, he convinced himself.

No one was in the halls when they got back, lobby was empty, beds stripped clean of bodies. They decided not to sleep with each other in the end. Promised to not forget the night, to not push each other away, to _talk_ about anything that bothered _._

Joe has his hand on the doorframe of Rami’s bunk room. The window curtains are open on the far side of the room, the light catching Rami’s back and turning him into a black silhouette for Joe to squint at with a touch of fear. His hair looks very much like it did on set.

He _embodies_ Merriell Shelton in this very moment. And that really scares Joe.

“Night, then.”

Rami takes a step closer, Joe fights back the goosebumps and accepts the body into his personal space. He leans forward and presses his lips softy to Joe’s. They're chapped, their skin catching with the movement, Joe wants to drown in the feeling. Deprived, he confesses to himself.

He moves his hand from the white painted frame to Rami’s neck, curling his fingers around his nape and digging in with his fingernails.

_Gentle, be gentle._

Like the water, only lap at. Only just get a taste.

Joe invites Rami’s tongue the way the sea did his ankles, works his way around it with ease. Never pushing away, not giving back; purely taking from. It doesn't last as long as he’d hoped, in real time it would have been a minute or two, though it only felt around ten seconds.

Rami is smiling again, always smiling near Joe. He can't see it, but he feels the curve of his lips against his teeth. He yearns to see the expression, to see the gleam in his eyes, if open, and drink in the view slowly. Deliberately taking his time so this would all last.

“Night.”

The blur of darkness is gone. Joe blindly makes his way towards his bunk, pulls the covers tight around his collarbones. He dreams of a beautiful man swallowed at the waist by a feverishly alive ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for all your kind comments on my previous works; believe it or not, but they really keep me going. i love writing, but im shit at thinking people wanna read my stuff. turns out no one rlly cares because we're all just so desperate for more joe/rami works. so i hope you guys like this one, pls let me know if u do :)
> 
> ps. this isn't the pacific fic i promised, that's still in works atm.... its got a long way to go so i hope no one loses interest in the time it takes to finish


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